


All Crashes Down

by socknonny



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Fluff, Handcuffs, M/M, hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 13:05:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16063754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/socknonny/pseuds/socknonny
Summary: Steve and Billy end up handcuffed together. Which is just about the least convenient time for Steve to realize he really wants to hold Billy's hand.





	All Crashes Down

**Author's Note:**

> This is shit and I apologize. I'm in a writing funk and I needed a bit of silly light-heartedness to get me out, but I'm not sure it worked lol

“Hop, you’ve got to be kidding.” Steve’s voice breaks a little as he speaks, desperation seeping into the words. “Please. Come on.”

“Chin up, kiddo,” Hopper mutters around his cigarette, snapping one half of his handcuffs closed around Steve’s left wrist. “Can’t play favorites, and you did punch that kid in the back of the head.”

From his position a few feet away, sitting beside Steve on the couch, Billy Hargrove sniggers. Blood is leaking out his nose, but it’s not from Steve’s fists. Even when the fight broke out at Stacy Walters’ party, the two of them avoided each other, both unwilling to confront the charged energy that still crackles between them. But when the cops arrived and busted them in the middle of a six-man brawl while the rest of the party split, it seemed they couldn’t avoid each other any longer.

“Tommy?” Steve hisses, incredulous. “He headbutted me!”

Hopper pauses for half a second to spare him a pitying look. As far as Steve’s concerned, that just rubs salt in the wound.

“Nevertheless,” Hopper continues in his slow drawl. “I’ve only got one set of cuffs, and I need a few minutes to round up whichever idiots think I’m stupid enough not to find them hiding in a closet.”

Without looking, he reaches out, grabs hold of Billy’s wrist, and snaps the other cuff around it. He gives them both a humorless smile as they gape down at the handcuffs.

“Don’t make me regret this,” he finishes, and then he fucking leaves them there.

They stare down at the offending piece of metal, hands still held out at an awkward angle from shock. Then Billy seems to recover himself as he leers at Steve and gives the handcuff a little shake.

“I didn’t know you were so kinky, Harrington.”

Steve pretends he doesn’t feel a distinct thread of warmth course through him at those words. “Shut up, asshole.”

Billy runs his tongue along his teeth. “Kinky _and_ domineering. Be still my beating heart.”

The warm feeling definitely doesn’t grow. Or tingle. Or make him feel a little giddy. Actually that last one could be the beer, so maybe things aren’t that bad.

Then Billy fucking winks at him and he knows he’s gone.

“What’s your problem, dickhead?” Steve hisses under his breath. “Are you seriously trying to start something?” He lifts their joined hands up and shakes them. “In case you hadn’t noticed, that’s kind of a stupid idea right now.”

Billy grins at him, but to Steve’s surprise, he doesn’t arc up. If anything, Steve’s outburst seems to soothe him. Like all he wanted was for Steve to get riled.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” he drawls, leaning back into the cushions. “I’m not gonna fight you.”

He drops his hands by his side, and the motion pulls Steve slightly forward. Feeling about as mature as a five year old, Steve yanks his left hand back over his side of the couch.

Billy raises an eyebrow. Then, very slowly and deliberately, he slides his arm back, bringing Steve’s with it.

“Oh, for fucks’ sake,” Steve mutters, dropping his head back against the couch and shutting his eyes.

The room spins a little behind his closed eyelids, but he isn’t too drunk so it’s mostly just pleasant. There are no more party sounds anymore, and Steve’s pretty sure everyone else got away in time. All that’s left is some dishevelled furniture from the fight and a bunch of punch stains on the carpet. Steve swears he’s getting too old for this.

His fingers twitch, and for a second they brush against Billy’s. It’s stupid, but Steve wishes he could think of some excuse to do more than just small touches, even if just to prove to himself that he’s being ridiculous. He has no reason to want to touch Billy’s skin; he’s just drunk, and dumb things seem like good ideas when you’re drunk. Besides, he can’t think of a subtle way to make it happen, so there’s no point thinking about it. Even if the warmth from Billy’s hand beside his is making him forget why he shouldn’t just grab hold of it anyway.

“Hey, Harrington?”

“Yeah?”

“Wanna thumb war?”

Steve’s eyes snap open and he sees Billy grinning at him, mirroring his stance with his head tipped back against the couch behind them. He’s full of some kind of restless energy—he always is—and somehow it makes the surreality of the suggestion make sense. Billy’s bored, he’s unpredictable, and he’s handcuffed to Steve. Why wouldn’t they thumb war?

At least, that’s what Steve tells himself as he sits upright with an indecent amount of enthusiasm. It’s easier that way.

Typically, you thumb wrestle with the same hands—two lefts or two rights, whatever. You can’t hold them together properly if they’re opposites. But before Steve can suggest one of them use their non-cuffed hand, Billy entwines their fingers together instead, locks his gaze with Steve’s, and just waits.

For a minute, Steve loses his breath, choking a little as he struggles to keep a normal expression on his face. Billy’s fingers are warm between his and far smoother than he would have guessed. Not that he’s ever guessed, of course. But it's all he can think about when Billy stares at him, blond curls falling forward across his face. His expression, partially hidden behind the golden locks, is just as challenging as usual but in an entirely different way. Steve kind of wants to run his fingers across Billy’s palm, wants to feel how far the smooth skin continues.

He clears his throat. “Go?”

It isn’t meant to come out like a question.

Billy grins, and Steve is so staggered by how real the smile is that Billy’s thumb nearly traps his immediately.

He yelps and pulls back, but of course there’s nowhere to go—both because of the handcuffs around their wrists and the twist of Billy’s fingers between his that hold him gently but firmly still. So instead Steve leans forward, props his other arm above his head and just gives in.

This is how Hopper finds them when he finishes searching the house: leaning into each other’s space, whooping and yelling with their free arms braced against the back of the couch as their handcuffed hands and thumbs battle for dominance.

He stands still for a solid three seconds, the distinct mutter of ‘what the—’ heard under his breath even from three feet away. Steve thinks he hears a faint, disbelieving laugh as well, but he’s too focused on Billy’s hand beneath his to pay attention.

“Gotcha Harrington!” Billy cries out, trapping Steve’s thumb beneath his.

“Goddammit!” Steve swears, but before he can do anything else, Hopper is already moving between them with the key.

“You’re free to go,” Hopper says, twisting the key into the lock and jiggling it around when it sticks a bit.

Steve frowns. “Aren’t you charging us or something?”

Hopper’s lips twitch. “The others bolted, and no one's pressing charges. Perhaps I can play favorites a little, too.” His eyes slide to Billy and he looks thoughtful. “By proxy at least, or something,” he finishes under his breath.

The lock clicks open and the cuffs fall away. Hopper slips them back into his pocket and jerks his head toward the door.

“Get outta here. And don’t fight anyone else tonight; I don’t need the paperwork.” He’s already halfway to the door, not looking behind him.

Billy and Steve are still holding hands.

Steve looks down at the same moment Billy seems to register their fingers are still entwined. It’s obvious that they’re meant to pull away now. The hold has gone on far too long to be casual, but neither of them move. The room is silent but for the sound of their breathing, both of their breath coming a little heavier than it should be, a little too drunk—or perhaps something else.

Steve looks up to see Billy watching him again, and for just a second his expression is entirely unreadable. Then, Billy pulls away, but as he does so, he runs his thumb across Steve’s palm. The touch is light, soft—barely there but undeniably deliberate. The corners of Billy’s mouth lift up into a smile.

“Those are some pretty soft hands, Harrington,” he says, and just ten minutes ago Steve would have only heard an insult.

Now, he hears something different. He remembers thinking the exact same thing about Billy’s hands for the last ten minutes while feeling a little breathless, his heart fluttering somewhere in his throat. If he's honest with himself, it still is.

“You’ve got nice hands too, Hargrove,” he says without thinking, though when the shocked silence descends he knows he would have said it anyway.

Billy blinks at him, lost for words for the first time since Steve met him. Somewhere in the distance a door bangs open; people are returning, and Billy takes the moment of distraction to disappear.

But Steve’s palm is still warm where Billy’s fingers brushed against it, and as Billy leaves, Steve sees his fingers twitch by his side, like maybe he’s remembering something too.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I saw this idea floating around on a Harringrove tumblr somewhere, but I can't remember where... I'll prob come back and do one again in future that's longer and more tropey, bc it's such an underrated concept. Also it's prob about time I accepted I have a handholding kink or something???
> 
> (me: hey do me a favour and pretend to have a thumb war using the wrong hand with me  
> SO, who is entirely too used to me asking them to help talk through more complicated m/m sex positions for fic: ... where does the dick go in this scenario?
> 
>  
> 
> This is my life. These are my choices.)


End file.
